Nineteen Years; One Regret [UPDATED with Photos]

It's a gorgeous autumn day in the south just like it was nineteen years ago today when I married my Officer and Gentleman in a military wedding at the Main Post Chapel at Fort Benning, Georgia. Ten fellow officers served as the Gentlemen of the Saber Arch. Our friend, George, then a first lieutenant and now a retiree, officially welcomed me to the Infantry as he ceremoniously swatted my bottom with his saber. The tradition is to say, "Welcome to the Army, Mrs. X." At that time, I outranked him and told him that I was already welcomed into the Army as my leave and earnings statements regularly proved. I also cautioned him that as a recent graduate of the U.S. Army Airborne School, I was also welcomed there as my Basic Parachutist's Badge proved. I warned him that, mess dress uniform or no, I would have no hesitation dropping him for push-ups if he violated my bridezilla edict.

He surprised me by saying, "Welcome to the Infantry, Mrs. Adams." There's a picture somewhere in the album of me laughing in surprise

and Dave smiling at me with a knowing look.

Duplicate that picture innumerable times over nineteen years. I'm often surprised and he's often smiling at my ability to be surprised.

I wouldn't change anything, really, about our married life together. There have been many challenges, some of which have been documented on this little blog, and many others that pre-dated blogging. And there are some which remain known unto us alone. Every marriage is a mystery, known only to its members.

I believe the one regret I have is in my faults--what I've done and what I've failed to do--in being more holy, more loving, and more loveable to the best man I've ever known. The only man who ever walked the earth who surpasses my man would be good St. Joseph. I have the extreme privilege of being married to a fun, funny, content & holy man who is a wonderful provider, father, beloved and friend. I was so happy on our wedding day that no tears fell from my eyes; I took it as a pre-figurement of Paradise. And every day since, I've had the privilege of living out what happily-ever-after means.

UPDATE: I dug and found the photos. My brother, a groomsman, took them back when he was a photojournalist and before he began his wedding photography work. All of them are copyright Paul F. Gero, all rights reserved.

Thanks go to Dave for scanning them. Natch.

Tears Stream Down

Please read this post, from a Catholic priest, stationed in Iraq. The soldier in me and the Catholic in me could only speak through tears.

Military Precision re: Cleaning

I couldn't get this to embed. It takes about a minute. It's cute and reminded me of my nephew, a new Infantry soldier currently stationed in Iraq.

Surprising News: Military Execution Scheduled

This recent story came my way and it really did surprise me. The Army is planning to perform its first execution since before I was born. Ronald Gray, former soldier, will be executed via lethal injection on December 10, 2008 at the federal prison in Terra Haute, Indiana. [Simon?] All appeals have been exhausted and he will be put to death for serial murder and rape in and around Fort Bragg, North Carolina from April 1986 to January 1987.

If you look at the old photo of the murderer, you'll notice the background has dark brick and a covered window. I know that backdrop. I worked in that building once upon a time.

Inside the White House

One of my longtime blog friend is a military officer, assigned to the White House. Want to know what happened the other day when a certain Senator paid a visit to the Bushes? It's a nice story. But even more important for this lovely gentleman is that he and his wife are expecting their first child and they are about half-way through the pregnancy.

The Rock 'n Roll Army

"Bad to the Bone" starts blaring over the loudspeaker and the bleachers, full of about a thousand parents, siblings, relatives and Puget Sound Debs, take notice of the billowing smoke cannisters across the parade field. Two of the newest-of-the-new troop transports, the Stryker Armored Fighting Vehicle, stealthily make their way and two squads, fully armed, unload and the demonstration begins. It's been almost two decades since I landed at Fort Benning, the poguiest of the pogues--a female JAG in a peacetime Army. Clearly, it is not Aunt Ruthie's Army anymore.

I was pleased and amazed by all the new things--including the Sippican friendly base housing [not a snout-house in sight!]--but nothing inspired me more than the 250 new young Infantry soldiers. Every one of them volunteered in the midst of a war with an intractable foe knowing they are the tip of the spear and are destined for battle. They looked impossibly young, but square-jawed and clear-eyed and ready for what awaits.

My son, all of six years old, was allowed to sit in the Stryker
and, within moments of being told which hand on the joystick, started zeroing in on targets. He wondered why he couldn't fire. How smart is the Army to make their coolest of cool vehicles fit into the digital-aged soldiers who now use them?

My nephew graduated, and, as I suspected, was different than the fellow we sent off in April.The Army does this to people and has from time immemorial, but it is still a wonder to behold.

Are You Too Hoo-ah?

The Army word "hoo-ah" is much like the word "aloha": many meanings, depending upon usage and inflection. Generally, it means squared-away, hard-charging, well-performing soldier. But how does one know if one is too hoo-ah?

You might be too hoo-ah if:
~You go to a barbecue and insist that your family feed tactically.
~Your children clear housing before they go to college.
~You give the command "Fix Bayonets" at Thanksgiving Dinner.
~You make your daughter sign out on pass on Prom Night.
~Your kindergartner calls recess "smoke break."
~Your wife "takes a knee" in long checkout lines at the Food Lion.
~Your newborn's first words were "all OK Jumpmaster."
~Your daughter's dolls wear starched uniforms.

And then, some might believe that one can never be too hoo-ah.

Beret tip and a salute: Mr. Charming [formerly Captain Charming]

Remembering COL Jerald L.Thompson, 1945-1994

~~~~~

I was reading comments on a blog I frequent and one of the more nauseating commenters remarked that we lost zero American lives in Iraq between April 1991 and March 2003 [really, it's only a tangential point in his mostly pointless ramblings, which I don't recommend you bother reading for many reasons]. He is quite wrong, but rather than waste pixels on him, I'll write a tribute here.
~~~~~

COL Jerald L. Thompson commanded a group of U.S. servicemen [jointly with Turkish forces] in the Kurdish area of Iraq, north of the Northern No-Fly Zone. He had served his tour of duty and was doing a change-of-command helicopter flight to acquaint his replacement with the area. They [all 26 souls on board two helicopters] were shot down by U.S. Air Force fighters who mistook the two blackhawks for enemy craft. I never met Jerry in person, but I knew his wife, Eileen. I attended his memorial at Fort Bragg at the Special Forces chapel on post and there was an outpouring of mourners that filled the chapel to overflowing.

Others who knew him will attest to his sterling character as a soldier. As I said, I never met him in person. I only knew him as a beloved husband to Eileen whom I met through Mary Kay Cosmetics. She and I shared a room at Career Conference in the early spring of 1994, while Jerry was still in Iraq. She is older than me, quite graceful, a lovely woman and a gentle mentor. During our time together, she found out that married life agreed with me, even only four years into our journey. She told me about a Worldwide Marriage Encounter that she and Jerry had made, years earlier, in a castle in Germany. She described how that one weekend changed their marriage and she encouraged us to make the weekend. I went home and sold David on the idea. We signed up for a weekend in the Raleigh diocese. That weekend was cancelled because of a military operation to Guantanamo Bay that pulled away several of the soldiers. I was righteously miffed. Eileen told me that the one we were meant to take is the the one we would take.

The news of Jerry's death spread quickly through the Mary Kay world. I went to see Eileen. That day she had received in the mail a gorgeous Persian rug that Jerry had selected for her and sent just before he died. She pointed to the bookshelf full of their dialogue books--daily love letters--that they shared for many years. She had no doubt of his love for her. She mourned him greatly, but never regretted anything about their relationship. She and Jerry made a choice each day to love each other. They fulfilled their marriage vows and were together until death parted them. She knows that he awaits her in Heaven. What a privilege it will be for me to meet him someday over there. I am profoundly grateful to him for his sacrifice to our country and his example of how to truly love your wife. That weekend which we made in October 1995 changed our marriage.

Thanks, Colonel Thompson, for everything.

Mementos of Dad

When Mom was here recently, I told her that I was a little sad that I got no memento when Dad died. My brother, his only son, naturally got the family treasures, but I was left with nothing tangible. We discussed it for awhile and left it for other topics.

The other day I received a package from Mom. In it, she included the wooden shoeshine box that I watched Dad pull out every Saturday. He learned a good spit-shine in the Army and he polished up his oxfords every week. Many of his sales calls were to farmers or dusty agricultural co-ops, so he had a lot of work to do to keep them looking spiffy. Years later when I met my husband in the Army, he, too, devoted a great deal of time and effort at keeping his boots and shoes looking neat. In fact, Dave, out of either pity or the chance to impress, taught me how to do a good spit-shine, too. [Key fact: use no spit. Cold water is much better.]

Mom also sent Dad's first rosary, blessed by Pope Benedict. Two of his friends brought it to him from a recent pilgrimmage to Rome. I find it funny that Dad's first pope as a Catholic was John Paul II, while mine was Pope Paul VI. [I missed it being John XXIII by only a few months.]

Finally, she included a small 'zen garden' that Dave and I gave to Dad for Father's Day five years ago. He was well along into his Alzheimer's and that little novelty gave his hands something to do besides trace the placemat with his juice glass. It now sits on my desktop with a small note that reads, "Serenity now."

They are all perfect little reminders of Dad: Army Dad, Catholic Dad, stricken Dad.

Pat Tillman: Athlete, Soldier, Hero

My brother had the privilege of photographing Pat Tillman 10 years ago. He wrote this reminiscence today for his regular feature called "The Vault." I am impressed with Tillman's respect for his elders [calling my brother "Mr. Gero"], and for his integrity. Paul had an idea of the type of photo he wanted to shoot, but Tillman politely and honestly suggested something more authentic. Take a look at the photo that Paul got by climbing the towers of the lights over the Arizona football stadium along with Tillman, who used to climb the lights "to sit and think."

I'm proud of my brother and often amazed at his talent. I'm humbled by Tillman's ultimate sacrifice.

A Sunday to Sift

We were so pleased to have friends stay overnight. Typical of old times, we stayed up late catching up. We didn't run out of things to talk about, we just ran out of gas. Our friend, just back from Iraq where he did extremely hazardous duty in the streets of Baghdad [not his words, but my take on what he was doing], was very helpful at putting the current war in perspective. Two main points that I took away: [1] What he saw and the progress being made was not well reported at home, [2] pulling out before we've finished the job would be devastatingly bad all the way around. He enlightened me about the tribal nature of the sectarian violence. The best analogy we could reconstruct [in our freedom-addled minds] is that it's like Robert E. Lee of 100+ years ago, who saw being a Virginian above being an American and renounced his oath to join the Confederacy.

----------------

Have you ever met a real life hero? I think there are moments of heroism in most lives where we sacrifice something for our fellow man. But our friend is a hero of uncommon valor. Bullets whizzed past him many many times. And he suited up and showed up for duty every day for over a year. He has a wonderful, heroic-in-her-own-way wife, and two fabulous kids. He had everything in the world to lose. And he did it anyway. I just cannot say enough good things about our soldier friend. We owe him more than we can repay in this life.

A Detour

Because of this post over at Althouse, I was all ready to blog tonight about a remembrance of my time in the U.S. Army Airborne School and to share a YouTube about bad exits [turn the music off because it's awful and foul]. But before I wrote it, I received an email from a church friend who is doing the March of Dimes Walk Across America and dedicating her family's walk to my girls. I discovered this YouTube, about a preemie named "Ezekiel" and thought it was worth a watch. Just as information, both my girls were also 26 weekers. Mary Jo weighed 1 pound 15 ounces at birth. Annie was the big girl at 2 pounds 3 ounces.



If you'd like to make a donation to my friend's walk-a-thon, please email me and I'll send you her link.